


There's Always Two

by Todaywearesoldiers



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Granada Holmes canon, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV John Watson, Protective Sherlock Holmes, Protectiveness, The Three Gables, Victorian Sherlock Holmes, Victorian Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-15 16:35:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18077021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Todaywearesoldiers/pseuds/Todaywearesoldiers
Summary: After Dr. Watson is injured on a case, Holmes is seemingly unfazed. It is not until Holmes comes face-to-face with Watson's attacker that he understands Holmes's true feelings.





	There's Always Two

During a summer night in 1896, Holmes and I found ourselves separated during one of the many cases which normally brought us together. However, in this instance, a little old lady found herself without protection during a time Holmes felt was to be filled with danger. As such, I volunteered myself to stay the night with the woman, Mrs. Maberley, in her house affectionately known as The Three Gables.

I had expected the night to pass without complications, but when the clock struck one, I heard a ghastly scream from downstairs. I rushed to the source to find Mrs. Maberley lying at the bottom of the stairs, yelling for me to run after our intruder. 

Once outside, I found our man in the gazebo, bent over the desk where Mrs. Maberley’s grandson had once sat writing his book. Upon noticing my presence, he straightened his spine to reveal the true marvel of his height. I recognized him at once to be Steve Dixie, the man who had threatened Holmes against meddling in Harrow’s business that very morning. The visit had been a short and unpleasant one, for he had lifted Holmes against the windowsill, and I had threatened him with the fire poker. 

With a wavering breath, I reminded myself of instances where I had fought larger men in victory and planted my fist in Dixie’s stomach. To my surprise, he never so much as flinched. It took one blow from the intruder for me to realize I was outmatched. He planted another fist to my side, and I wheezed in a vain attempt to regain my breath. The last I remember was Dixie’s massive hands around each of my biceps and being thrown through the glass of the gazebo. 

For a small community, Harrow possessed a talented and able handed doctor. He wrapped my broken ribs and removed the glass from my face where it had almost nearly grazed my eye. After leaving me with some materials of my own to redress the wounds, he departed from the room where I lay, thinking of how I was to explain my failure in protecting The Three Gables to Holmes.

I had not long to plan, for a familiar voice soon graced the halls. “Dora, where is he?”

In hearing Holmes’s sonorous voice, I found my body replenished with energy and sprung from my bed. It wasn’t until I began down the stairs that my injuries overtook me, and I half fell down the first flight. I struggled to regain my composition but managed at last to stand upright. When I turned to continue down the rest of the stairs, I was met by the scrutinizing eyes of Holmes which looked at my injuries rather than at me. 

I wrapped myself tighter in my dressing gown. “I wasn’t aware they sent for you, Holmes.”

In reply, he merely set his jaw and turned back to Dora. “And Mrs. Maberley?”

“Her bedroom, sir. She is much shaken.”

“Thank you, Dora. You have done well.” 

He ascended the stairs without so much as a second glance towards me. After hearing the closing of Mrs. Maberley’s bedroom door, I allowed myself to slouch against the wall and slide to the floor. Dora rushed to my side, but I waved her away. 

I had often written of Holmes’s machinelike manner in dealing with others, but the disregard he showed for me hurt far worse than the injuries I sustained. It was true that he could disengage his emotions to better solve a case, but I found the times in which he worked with passion to be more of note. Therefore, you can imagine my disappointment to find I was just a weapon in Holmes’s artillery, nothing more. 

Holmes did not speak to me for the rest of the day. I stood by for his instruction but received none. The most help I could offer was in recounting my story of the burglary to the authorities and Holmes who sat across the room staring into the fire. I could see nothing in his vacant eyes except for gleam casted off the flames. When I reached the point as to my fight with the intruder, Holmes rose from his chair and left the room in a hurry, explaining he needed to speak with the servants. The only clue we had from the night was a torn sheet of paper that Mrs. Maberley had snatched from the burglar. It spoke of pain endured by both mind and body, and I couldn’t help but smile at the irony. 

Finally, in the afternoon of the next day, Holmes requested my assistance. I was sitting in what had become my chair by the fire of Baker Street while he examined the paper the burglar was evidently so interested in. 

“If you’re feeling up to it, my dear Watson, I would be much obliged if you’d accompany me to further investigate some leads.”

I only nodded. In his acknowledging of my injuries, I became aware of my ribs aching beneath their wrap for the first time in hours. “I’ll just be a moment,” I promised, rising from my seat to redress my wounds. 

“Oh, and doctor? You may find your revolver to be of use.”

I stopped mid-step and turned to Holmes, asking through gritted teeth, “Are you suggesting I should have shot the man?” 

“I would have. I might still do so if he would be so inclined as to make an appearance, for it would surely be his undoing and my sweet revenge.” He smiled deviously at his last words which were taken from the worn sheet of paper he held against the light. 

“I’m already armed.”

“Of course he is, that captain of mine. Two broken ribs and he still carries a gun in his breast pocket.”

We spent the remainder of the day visiting those involved with the case. I believed us to be no closer to solving the problem than we were that morning, but Holmes insisted we were nearing the end. He promised we had only one stop left before we could return to Baker Street for dinner and rest the case until the morning.

The cab stopped in front of the boxing club, and my ribs protested against seeing the men inside, one of which I knew to be the cause of my injuries. My mind returned to Holmes’s threat in 221B during our conversation of the revolver. I took his hand for the first time since the start of the case.

“Be sensible in there.” 

He lifted the hand to his lips. “But doctor, I can’t disappoint your readers.”

“I’m serious, Holmes.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

I settled for this, knowing it was as close to a promise as I was to receive.

Once inside the gym, Holmes made directly for Dixie who spotted me instantly upon entering the room. At first, I had planned to remain by Holmes’s side, but in seeing Dixie’s wicked smile, I opted to linger near the ring and keep watch of the others. 

For a while, the conversation looked to be civil. I allowed my focus to become lost in the trance of the boxer’s movements which was only broken by hearing Holmes’s voice commanding the attention of the room. 

“It doesn’t matter whose boot killed Douglass Maberley. You’re all guilty!”

Upon hearing this outburst, the other boxers in the gym began to swarm Holmes, herding us until we were side by side. 

“Holmes…”

He ignored my warning. “Betray me again and I’ll destroy you. Follow my exact directions, and we may make a deal. Hmm?”

Satisfied by a nod from Dixie, Holmes turned to leave, taking my arm as he did so. 

“That’s Mister Holmes, ain’t it? The amateur boxer that did three rounds with McMurdo? Half the boxers in London want a rematch with him.”

“Nah, that there’s Sherlock Holmes, the detective,” Dixie attempted to correct. 

He and the other boxer moved in front of us as to better examine Holmes who had stopped upon hearing his name resurface in the conversation. The boxer clasped his hands together in a sudden realization. “No, I remember it well now. It was a funny name like that.” 

“Well, maybe he’d be a better fight than his biographer.” Dixie hypothesized, using his thumb and forefinger to flick the bruise that possessed most of the right side of my face. 

An expression overtook Holmes in which I had seen few times during our many years together. I was reminded of him by the fire, flames in his eyes. He turned to uppercut Dixie, but my hand was already around his wrist as I drug him towards the door. 

“You know better, old boy. One of us bruised up is enough. What good would two be?” I asked outside as Holmes loosened his tie. 

“Indeed, Watson. What good would two be?” He snapped as we crawled into a four-wheeled cab. 

We rode in silence for a ways until sentiment got the better of me, and I had to reapproach the matter. “I know I haven’t been of much use on this case, but if that’s some kind of attempt to get rid of me…”

“Get rid of you! My dear Watson, never. I’m simply saying you should never doubt the power of two.” He moved closer to me and brought his hand to the bruise that still throbbed from being thumped. I knew his aim was not to hurt me, but I flinched as a natural reflex. He pulled his hand away as if I had screamed out in pain.

“Apologies,” I whispered.

“No, you have a right to flinch away, for these injuries are of my doing.” 

“Holmes, you mustn’t blame yourself.”

“Shouldn’t I? I send my most valuable resource to stay the night in a house where I was certain of danger, and I’m somehow surprised to receive a telegram saying he’s been brutally attacked with no word of his condition.” 

He laughed between words as if he was mocking himself, but in an instant, his expression dropped and his eyes concentrated on me once more. “It was foolish, Watson, foolish. I rode all the way here in anguish, knowing very well that I could have just made the worst mistake of my life.” 

“It wasn’t right for them to send for you like that with no further details as to my health.”

“They didn’t know any better. They didn’t know better because they didn’t know how much I care for you. I’m afraid I gave Dora quite the shock when I ran in with tear-soaked eyes.” 

As he continued, he placed his hand on my knee with a deliberate and delicate touch. “Worse still, in a time where I should have been offering comfort, I hadn’t been able to so much as look at you in fear that I’d break and embarrass us both in front of all of Harrow and Scotland Yard.” He took his deerstalker from his head and tossed it across the cab. “Now, that wouldn’t be very fitting of your emotionless detective, would it? If I had just been there…” 

His sentence was cut short by the cab arriving at Baker Street to which my exhaustion greeted wearily. After entering the flat, we went our separate ways, him to his chemistry table and me to my medicine bag. I cautiously removed my shirt and the wrapping around my ribs, sensing Holmes’s eyes with every movement. I would have left the matter alone, but I could sense it lingering in his mind. 

“I’m not helpless, Holmes. I should have been able to defend myself.” 

“Against a 6’5” trained boxer with equally impressive an arm span? That would take more than an army doctor and a detective to defeat.” The experiment on the table hissed as he added a reagent. “But I think if we could have taken the blows together, they would have hurt less. I say again that I should have been there.”

“But I was alright.” 

I heard him rise from his chair and walk towards where I was standing. I had my back turned, but I could feel his eyes scrutinizing every inch of my exposed skin. 

“You must forgive me. It is my profession to possess all the facts.” 

“Then by all means.” 

I turned to face him, and he examined me for some time, fingers hovering above my ribs and every bruise on my body. I did my best to explain how long each would take to heal to which he blankly nodded. When he reached the bruises and cuts on my face, he hesitated before instead placing his hands on my hips and pulling me in to place a kiss on my cheek, one so soft that I wondered if I had actually felt it or only wished to. As I looked up to meet his eyes, I again saw the flames, but this time they warmed without burning.

"Once again, Watson I trust your diagnosis, even if it is self administered. It is good for them that you are alright." He kissed me again, this time firmer and on my lips. "But let it be known to the next ruffian that there will always be two."


End file.
